A Gentry's Guide to Bullshit
by MethLabrador
Summary: 1813. London. Sam and Dean Winchester head to the great city to seek their fortune. For Mr Novak, an advantageous political marriage seems the only option to please his father and further his career chances, but when he meets the new stable hand Mr Winchester, all established regard for propriety seems rather pointless. AU Regency Destiel. Will become M in later chaps.
1. Chapter 1

Hello, this is my first fic so I apologise for my rusty writing style.  
This is set in London, 1813 (Regency era in Britain)  
Dean is 20, Sam is 16 and Castiel is 22.

References to clothing, location pictures, and all sorts can be found on my profile page if you are having problems visualising :)

Also this will be a very romantic and cliche DESTIEL. Which means GAY. If you don't like it don't read it bitches. Enjoy and please let me know if you like it or have any suggestions for improvement. Thanks!

* * *

Vast rolling hills of green and gold edged past the brothers unnoticed, who were laughing loudly on the rickety old wagon, engrossed in a game of cards.

"Dean, stop cheating!"

"I'm not! I honestly don't know where that card came from"

The even ricketier old pony pulling the two and their belongings along whinnied into the thick heat of the day, enfeebled after three days travelling. The sun baked down on the capped heads of the brothers, who had not turned up to look at their whereabouts for over an hour, so confident were they in the old mare's instinctive navigation system.

The battered wagon rambled on over the uneven path, shuddering over every pebble and creaking with every turn of the road.

When nightfall came, the boys stayed at their third inn in a small village, three quarters of the way to London.

* * *

The following day brought with it another close heat that had the brothers sweating like sinners in church, the old mare whinnied and the hills rolled by once more at the same plodding pace. The only difference being that each village they passed increased in size and prosperity respectively, a sign of London's wealth filtering out into the local countryside.

By the fourth night they were so close to the city that Sam could see the orange glow of light in the sky when leaning out the window of the room. The sixteen year old could barely control himself as he craned his neck, trying to see the top of St Pauls, Nelson's column or the Tower of London.

"Go to sleep now Sam, you won't be able to see anything from here" Dean grunted, half asleep.

"I will soon" he replied, straining with all his might to catch a glimpse of the idyllic city painted to him by his father on many occasion.

* * *

On the final day, they arrived in the City of London, and what a sight it was to behold.

Mile upon mile of stone houses, ancient pubs and new shining shops, thousands of people all weaving along the pavements like some intricate plait. The noise was indescribable, dogs barking, women shrieking, children laughing, horses neighing, construction workers above hollering, maids singing, cabbies whistling, cattle mooing, policemen blowing whistles – it was a symphony of urban living, one which neither Sam nor Dean had ever heard before in their lives. The sound of John snoring by the fire or the sheep bleating outside were the everyday sounds of home, this would take quite some getting used to.

Sam could barely keep his mouth shut the entire journey, from the outer regions of the city to the clustered and noisy centre streets, the bustle and concentration of energy astounded both the brothers, compared to their rural upbringing, this place was so very different from home.

Nance, the old mare was even more bewildered by the boys, only having been as far as the outskirts of Ealing with John, the movement and noise of the capital was proving too much for her frayed nerves.

Thankfully, Sam's new employer was only now a block away, Sam was fiddling with his dirty, calloused hands, obviously anxious.

"Don't worry Sam, you are going to be fine here, I'm not going to be far away"

"I know, I know that Dean"

"We are very lucky our father was able to get us these jobs, make the best of it"

"I will"

In the late afternoon the wagon jostled down a side road called 'Frankland Way'. Nance continued down the cobbled lane, her hooves clopping on the hard ground, until they came to house 24, a medium sized home compared to others they'd seen, but still sizeable compared to the house back on the farm.

"Remember to watch out for pickpockets"

"I will Dean"

"And remember to stay away from the pubs; you're too young for that"

"Dean, I-"

"And don't forget to-"

"Dean! I'll be fine, I'm only going to be a stable hand, I'm not going to be out on the streets every day, so don't worry yourself. And besides, you're not far away if something happens"

"I suppose you're right Sammy. You're a man now, you can look out for yourself without me fretting over you like an old woman"

Sam smiled, no longer anxious. Dean helped his brother unload his luggage, and after meeting Mrs Gardiner, Sam was shown to his servant lodgings and he took his leave. The Winchester brothers promised to see each other soon, and agreed that letters could fill the gap of absence in the meantime.

* * *

The next occasion Dean stepped off the wagon was at his own employer's house, a far larger and more imperial looking abode, three stories high and constructed of white washed stone. The adjoined servants quarters and stables on the left were connected by a large arch through which a large carriage could fit. Dean steered the wagon over the bumpy cobbles through the arch into a courtyard. To his left were numerous horse boxes, lining the edges of the square. In the far corner the stable went deeper into the building. There was also a sizeable covered space facing the horse boxes opposite with two carriages inside and room for at least two more.

Dean slowed the mare and stepped off the wagon, he looked around the yard, wondering what to do.

"You must be young Dean Winchester." greeted a rough voice from behind him, Dean turned around to meet who he suspected was his father's old friend.

"Yes Sir, are you Mr Singer by any chance?"

The dirty, bearded man gave a short laugh and took off his cap, "Yes I am, and I can safely say you look considerably like your father. How is John?"

Mr Singer began helping him unpack his things, and Dean started to detach the reigns off Nance, who was desperate for a rest. "He's doing well thank you, running the farm by himself could change that though."

"I am sure your father can manage, even if he is getting on in age. Where's your brother?"

"About a mile from here, working at a Mr Gardiner's house as a stable hand."

"That's good, come along I'll show you around."

* * *

Mr Singer guided old Nance into a vacant horse box and left the empty wagon in the yard, taking Dean with him off to the right, towards the house. The kitchens led out into the courtyard, with a few chickens pecking about in the doorway. Carrying his suitcase, Dean stooped to enter the door, following Mr Singer into the dimly lit room, cluttered with pots and vegetables. An annoying dog yapped at his feet, and women looked at him with interest as he made his way into the next room, and into a thin corridor.

"Go up the stairs, all the way to the top, and then go left, that's where the fellas sleep. It's almost six o'clock, so don't worry about getting any work done today son. You go and rest ya head"

Come eight o'clock that evening, Dean could hear the tinkling of wine glasses beneath him and gentle violin music wafting up through the rafters. Blowing out the candle and rolling onto his back on the stiff mattress, Dean closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, attempting sleep. A burst of polite laughter from downstairs jolted him awake for the second time. Huffing in frustration, Dean swung his legs over the edge of the bed and moved to the window, opening it as far as it would go and looking out over the chimney tops. No others servants were allowed to retire this early, and after a day of travelling Dean should be compensating with sleep – but the glow of the city and the cool night air were far more inviting. He listened nonchalantly to the echoing of horseshoes on cobbles, distant church bells ringing and drunken singing coming from a pub he'd past on the way here. For a while, he sat by the window and contemplated on his new situation.


	2. Chapter 2

Wooow thank you so much for the reviews! I'm surprised I got any at all, you're all wonderful people :D Enjoy!

* * *

Three days later, Dean wrote a hasty letter to Sam whilst eating his morning porridge. A few lumps fell onto the parchment, which he tried his best to wipe off.

_Dear Sammy,_

_My new situation is as favourable as yours I hope. Mr Novak seems a strict and disagreeable sort of man, I am going to have to tread carefully and work my hardest to remain here, and you should be working hard too brother, otherwise you'll have to become a chimney sweep apprentice, though I doubt you'd be able to fit up any flute anymore.  
Mr Singer, my supervisor in the yard, is also incredibly knowledgeable about all aspects of the house, garden and stable. I asked where he was born, and can you believe it! Guildford, it's not twenty miles from home. He talks about our father a lot; I hope they'll get to see each other again._

_I haven't yet been introduced to the son of Mr Novak yet, apparently he is a man of "genteel nature", and I quote Mrs Price (One of the cooks) "never have I worked for such an amiable man, his manners become him". I bet he is actually a insufferable son of a bitch, all these proud London types seem to be underneath all their extensive vocabulary and cheerful countenances. Give them a day of labour and they'll drop dead I swear to it._

_I trust Mr Gardiner is looking after you well? Let me know if he isn't Sammy, I'll give him what for._

_Your brother,_

_Dean _

* * *

Dean gave the letter to the nearest penny-post that morning, knowing it would be in Sam's hands come the afternoon. Going out into the city for the first time since his arrival was deeply refreshing for the young man, donned in a brown jacket and cap he ambled through the streets, already busy with porters and merchants, hansom cabs and other carriages going about their rounds.

On the walk back from the post office, a large black stage coach passed him, pulled by four white horses. Dean looked on inquisitively, trying to catch a glimpse of the occupant, but the curtains were mostly drawn, and so they must be asleep.

Dean's curiosity was resolved when he arrived back at the stable by which time the paling sky was now a steady blue, seeing the black carriage being wheeled into the garage by Mr Singer and several other servants. That must have been Mr Novak's son, back from their country estate. The white horses were being detached from their harnesses, and Mr Singer called him over to help.

The yard was particularly busy that morning because the pig bought from the market a few hours previous managed to escape from its pen around the back of the stable, and so half of the staff were running riot trying to pin it down, much to the entertainment of the horses watching the spectacle from their boxes.

According to Miss Foster the pig was for Master Novak, and so it mustn't be harmed until the butcher came tonight.

The man who finally managed to leap on the pig first was later introduced to Dean as Benny, the gentle but burly son of a blacksmith who was working at the Novak household part time. Dean found Benny incredibly easy to talk to, and so they shared lunch in the kitchen that day among the other staff.

"I hear you've got a brother Dean?" said Benny, dipping his bread into the stodgy soup.

"Yeah, little Sammy. Well... he is not as little anymore."

Benny laughed, taking off his cap and setting it down beside him on the wooden table.

"He's working as a stable hand a mile or so from here." Dean continued.

"That's reassuring for him, being younger. How come the two of you travelled to London then Dean?"

"...The farm wasn't making enough money, and so our father reasoned that sending us to find our fortune in the city would solve that. We have to send back a portion of our pay every month to keep it going." Dean finished his soup and pushed the bowl out in front of him.

Benny sat back, "At least you know your father is living well because of you. I've lived in London all my life, and so has my father before me, I can't think of a better place to make something outta yourself."

"Dean! Benny! Somebody-" Miss Lisa Braeden, a kitchen maid was pulled into the room by the flailing chicken in her arms, which was squawking and wriggling determinedly like a fish in her grasp. Dean and Benny leapt into action, grabbing the valiant poultry and pinning it down onto the table, Mrs Price ran into the kitchen with an axe.

"Good heavens! This one's got some life in it." she breathed heavily, striding up to the wooden bench and bringing the axe down.

Just as the chaos was over, a butler whom Dean had never seen before entered the kitchen, looking just as bewildered as Mrs Braeden had been.

"Master Novak wishes to see Mr Winchester." he announced, his eyes travelling Dean's chicken feathered clothes and slack jawed expression with growing alarm. Dean nodded with an attempt at nonchalance, already nervous about meeting one of his employers. Had he done something wrong?

He brushed off as many chicken feathers as he could and followed the butler into the main house, where he had never been before. The well-lit hallways were immaculately clean, and Dean felt like his very presence was contaminating the sophisticated ambience.

The butler led him to a set of white double doors, which he knocked at tentatively before entering. Dean stayed outside, unsure of what to do.

"A Mr Winchester is here sir." Dean heard through the crack.

"Send him in."

The door opened again and the butler hissed at Dean to take off his cap. He did so quickly, cursing as a flutter of chicken feathers fell to the polished floor in the process. Dean bent to pick them up, but the butler ushered him in before he could.

The door closed behind him, and a flustered Dean found himself in a white and mint green room, richly decorated with gold-framed art and shining ceramics. A large marble fireplace was to the right, supporting a massive mirror above it. The window opposite Dean was shut and so the air was incredibly still, it was completely silent. He would have thought it deserted if there wasn't a man sitting on a chaise in front of him, staring with a mixture of interest and disgust.

Dean looked down at himself and noted with dismay more than several chicken feathers were still stuck to the rough fabric of his clothes. Noting with even further horror he saw the front of brown jacket and his hands were stained red with chicken blood from when Mrs Price had hurled her axe.

He looked back apologetically at Master Novak, wishing he'd say something to fill the silence.

Blue eyes continued to stare at him, and so Dean figured that he was probably breaking a rule of standard etiquette by not commencing the conversation. He cleared his throat.

"I understand you wanted to see me, sir?"

"...Yes, Mr Winchester, I have a special job for you." The man got up, and walked over to the fireplace, placing a hand on the marble mantelpiece. "Tomorrow a new horse I've purchased will be arriving from Huddleston, I want to you to take every consideration towards him. It's a present from my aunt."

"O-of course sir, I'll do my very best." Dean bowed a little, taking note of every word that fell from his lips.

"Thank you."

The silence stretched on, and Dean wanted nothing more than to take his leave, but he didn't know if he could.

"Did Mr Singer hire you here Mr Winchester?" he questioned, still standing stock still, his hand on his hip like a elegant figure out of a fresco painting.

"Yes sir, I am able to work here due to his kind recommendation." Dean fumbled with his hat, looking down at the floor, even unsure of where to lay his eyes.

"Are you from the country?"

"Yes Sir, from Farnborough sir."

"So you are completely new to London? Look at me Mr Winchester, do not be so humble, I am not a wrathful deity."

"Sorry Sir and yes... I am completely new to London, as you may have gathered." Dean looked up, thoroughly embarrassed.

Master Novak smirked at that, and for the first time Dean could get a proper look at him. His handsome face, shaped by dark messy waves of hair falling down from the crown of his head across his forehead wasn't that noticeable to Dean, who was finding himself pre-occupied with his eyes, delicately shaped with long lashes, more feminine that any woman's he'd ever seen.

He was fashionably dressed in long beige breeches, a dark blue waistcoat and a silk cravat. Making Dean feel similar to a mongrel at a pedigree show. Covered in stable filth along with blood and chicken feathers he must have looked like a pitiable street urchin compared to the rich politician's son.

"Tell me Mr Winchester, were you recently involved in a fight to the death with a chicken?" he smiled, his eyes gliding up his filthy clothes in a manner that was neither condescending nor deferential, he mostly looked innocently amused.

Dean returned the smile, "Yes sir, right before I-" there was a knock at the door, and the butler stepped in.

"Miss Eleanor Young to see you Sir."

"...Send her in." he replied, his eyes never leaving Deans, who shuffled on the spot, thinking it was surely time to leave.

He turned to see a beautiful woman glide into the room, dressed in a pink silk gown and stinking of such rich perfume that he had to breathe through his mouth for a good few seconds to avoid dizziness. He stared at her as she walked over to Master Novak, not even noticing his presence in the room.

"Eleanor dearest, may I have the pleasure of introducing you to Mr Winchester." he gestured to Dean, taking great amusement in her jolt of shock at the sight of him.

"Oh my goodness, the pleasure is all mine Sir." she said with a pitying laugh after catching her breath, her hand on her chest as if she was offended by his presence. She shot him a condescending smirk.

"Be careful not to touch any of the furnishings Mr Winchester, I don't think such a mark could ever be erased!" she laughed, leaning into Master Novak so that he would too join in on the mockery, he laughed at her joke.

Dean wanted to leave, he had wanted to leave the second he entered this awful room. His jaw clenched and he turned to leave, not caring if he broke a thousand year rule of etiquette by doing so.

"Mr Winchester" The man called, Dean stopped in his tracks with his bloodied hand on the glass door handle. He looked back over his shoulder, "please do not forget about my horse."

"I won't sir." Dean replied, hastily leaving the room and going back the way he came until he reached the courtyard. He breathed in deeply, vastly preferring the smell of hay and animals than paint and table polish. What a bastard that Novak's son was, Dean knew it all along. Any man brought up at Eton without a day's labour in his miserable life would no doubt be utterly ignorant of the turmoil of the working class, living in an ivory tower and drinking whiskey into the night.

* * *

Dean spat with gusto into an empty bucket, going to scrape up the dung of the master's four white horses. The cost of adding a further horse to the six already here was a show of how wealthy the Novak family were. John's old mare was just about breathing compared to the other stallions, all in prime condition and beautifully groomed by yours truly.

Muttering incoherently about the bullshit of the aristocratic classes, Dean shovelled the dung into the rusty bucket throughout the afternoon.


	3. Chapter 3

I was initially going to make this chapter and the next one thing, but it was getting too long, so you get two to read! Yay!  
Thank you soo much for reviews and favourites, they keep me going and it's great to hear what you all think :)

* * *

Mr Singer stamped the seal onto the delivery man's papers, and handed the reins of a lean, black saddlebred to Dean.

'If anything happens to that horse, Mr Novak's aunt Mrs Bartlett will be sure we are both floatin' dead in the Thames.' Mr Singer warned Dean. The delivery man took his leave, and they began walking to a vacant stable box.

'He'll want to see it I assume?'

'He's gonna to take it to Miss Forbes' house for lunch, so ensure that horse is immaculately presentable by then.'

Dean looked at the horse, assessing where there was room for any improvement. Finding none he turned to the retreating back of his supervisor.

'Mr Singer, it looks immaculately presentable at present.'

He turned and rolled his eyes at the statement, 'Well just do what ya can Mr Winchester, lest ya hands be idle for the whole mornin.'

* * *

Brushing down the stallion, Dean marvelled at the beauty of the animal. Sturdy and strong, but incredibly lightweight and fast, this horse would have cost a fortune. Mr Novak's aunt must be as wealthy as he. Nance's head just about reached the top of the wooden divider separating each horse from one another in the stable corridor. She whiffed and sniffed at her new neighbour, and tried her best to see him, though her eyes couldn't quite see over the barrier.

'I would not attempt it Nance, I don't think this one is quite your type.' Dean joked, pushing down her nose whilst he moved to the other side of the horse, brushing continuously.

'I wonder what he's going to name you...if he will name you at all. I hope it isn't something disagreeable, I'm sure you're a lovely boy.' Dean continued speaking to the horses, rambling on whilst going about his duties. With the reigns tight and secure, he attached the brown leather saddle.

The taller horse eventually began to get curious about his inquiring neighbour, and put his head over the barrier to look down at the pony, they seemed to be greeting each other by a way of snuffles and gentle whinnying. Dean adjusted the saddle and watched fondly as the two met, as different as horses could be. The old, grey dales pony sneezed in his face and Dean couldn't help but laugh at the abashed expression on the gentle steed.

Dean turned as he heard multiple voices approach, Mr Singer appeared in the stable door, waving forcefully with his hands to bring him out. The stable hand hastily gathered the reigns and walked the horse out into the midday sun, the new iron horseshoes clacked on the cobbles.

Mr Novak reeled in appreciation and took few steps back along with Mr Singer to give the horse some space.

'Marvellous.' he awed, lifting up the tip of his top hat to see it in full.

'Shall I walk him to the steps, Sir?' Dean asked, as was the custom.

'No need for that, I shall do it.' Mr Novak snatched the reins out of Dean's hands and began to lead the horse across the courtyard over to the arch way leading out onto the road. The groomsmen exchanged glances, not sure of what to do.

'Mr Novak, is there anything else we can assist you with?' Mr Singer called after him.

'I believe all is in order' he answered rudely as he reached the stone steps by the archway. He steadied the horse and climbed up onto it using the height advantage. After a moment's adjustment he tightened the reigns and turned the steed, his feet digging into the stirrups like a well-accustomed rider. The two retraced their steps back to the two men. He smiled down at them smugly.

'What a grand animal this is.' he commented, leaning forward to pat its neck affectionately, 'I've never seen such fine breeding in all my life.'

'He's a beauty to be sure, Sir.' Mr Singer replied, satisfied with his approval.

'I best be departing then, Mr Winchester' he fixed the man a fierce look, 'do not let my trust in you fail.'

Dean nodded hastily as Mr Novak dug his heels into the horse's belly, urging it forward into a trot, their gaze breaking as he moved away. In a few moments they had crossed the courtyard and had exited out of sight underneath the arch way. The young man took a deep, steadying breath and headed back in to the stable to replenish the hay for the horse's return, not dwelling on the arrogant rider.

* * *

Come the evening, the dinner rush was in full motion. The busiest time of day for everybody meant that not one person was inactive. The kitchen was a blur of maids and cooks, the back yard was bustling with guest's carriages and horses, and the servants hurrying to and fro from in areas of the house made for an overall atmosphere of pandemonium. Even the butler himself had given his door greeting duties to the footman for the evening due to overwhelming amount of jobs to be done elsewhere.

Garth Fitzgerald flew across the large kitchen, almost knocking over the scullery maid who was carrying a precariously balanced tier of dirty copper pans. Two other maids bowled over in the doorway of the kitchen let out cries of protest at his rapscallion behaviour.

'My apologies Miss Bradbury!' he called, already out of the room. He bounded up the stairs, three steps at a time, hurtling down two corridors and finally making it to the foyer of the house, he threw open the large mahogany door only a minute after it had been rung.

'Took you long enough, what kind of footman do you pretend to be sir? I expect the door to be opened a moment after I knock' a beer-bellied and red-nosed individual stated, striding in with a pretentious air and giving his coat and top hat to the panting footman, 'I'm here to dine with Mr Novak, and I am late.'

'Of course Mr Badle, my apologies' Mr Fitzgerald recovered his breath and moved to close the large door, seeing a large black and green carriage departing from the street outside, 'please follow me.'

He led the large man down a candle-lit corridor, and knocked on a large white door at the end of it.

'Mr Novak, Mr Badle has arrived.'

'Send him in.' a muffled voice spoke from within the room. Mr Fitzgerald opened the door and allowed the man to enter the room, before racing away back to the endless chores. 'Please take a seat Mr Badle.'

Mr Badle sat at the dining table, assisted by a servant with a powdered wig. Two men and an older woman were already sitting with the first course of pea soup in front of them. The room was wallpapered red, with a hardwood floor and numerous gold framed paintings hung on the tall walls, illuminated by the candle light.

'I am terribly sorry I'm late Mr Novak. I wouldn't want to miss out on a moment of this glorious feast, but the roads were awful this evening, it took over half an hour to travel through Earl's Court Road alone! and the footman left me at the door for heaven knows how long! I am sorry if I have caused you any displeasure Sir.'

Mr Novak senior was a man of late age; he slouched forward in his velvet seat, his back unable to provide him with perfect posture like the other younger guests at the table. A pale man, he had greying curls of hair set on a sagging face, every line and contour was highlighted by the dim candle light. His blue eyes were still striking despite the washed out and sombre appearance of the rest of him. The piercing intensity remained intact. They were identical to his son's, when they were fixed on another individual for too long a period; the other had to avert their gaze for fear of being scalded.

'Nonsense Mr Badle, you do not control the nature of the roads or the character of an incompetent footman. Let us all eat, and discuss the matter for which we have congregated with the intention of solidifying. Mr Kingsley?'

'My daughter, Anna, is very keen to engaged to your son Mr Novak, I am sure that she will make him the happiest of men if they were to wed.'

'I feel that it would be a most advantageous marriage on both sides Mr Kinglsey, it benefits all parties does it not?'

'Oh it does Mr Novak, it does.' he agreed, taking a sip of pea soup. His wife beamed at his side, eager for the arranged marriage to be solidified. If young Mr Novak was to marry Miss Kinglsey, he would gain political connections via her father, and she would gain a great deal of wealth and security with such a wealthy husband.

Mr Badle, as an important cabinet member, working directly under the Prime Minister the Earl of Liverpool, knew the significance in his approval of the marriage and so took the opportunity to encourage Mr Novak's hopes for his son. 'Mr Novak, I can assure you that I and fellow politicians will look graciously upon the marriage of your son to miss Kingsley, we are more than happy to offer you our support in this matter. To have him work with us as a well connected and successful-'

Mr Badle's rambling was cut short when the footman announced in an out of breath voice from outside that the younger Mr Novak was here.

'Come in' the man at the head of the table announced, turning to see his son stride into the room. Once he was seated his father decided to break the news gently to him.

'My son, you are well acquainted with Mr and Mrs Kingsley are you not?'

'I am Sir' he gave his most genuine smile at the two before returning his attention to the sweet smelling soup.

'Well my son, do you not feel it is time to become, more _intimately_ acquainted with the family?' he spoke delicately, completely unsure of how he would react to the proposal. His son's head shot up from his meal at hearing this, and he looked with wide eyes at Mr and Mrs Kingsley, his mind rushing down the path of what this meant for him.

'You mean for me to be married?'

'Indeed, we have all conversed and agreed that it would be a most advantageous match. Mr Badle has assured us all that with connections such as Mr Kinglsey's intimates, you may be eligible for much higher position in government my son, a fate which we have both been dreaming of these twenty so years!'

His father's exuberance did little to heighten his spirits. He placed his spoon down and stood up abruptly, not sure of what he was going to say. The others at the table were a little taken aback at his brash impertinence; his father narrowed his eyes, scowling at the boy with suspicion.

'I'm sorry sir I, I need a little time to comprehend my feelings on the matter...I, I just need to meditate on the prospect of what this will mean for my career and if I am ready to marry.' He mumbled, not entirely knowing what he just said actually meant.

'What is there to meditate on boy? If you know you are old enough to marry Miss Kingsley and want to further your position then why go off and think about it, agree to it now so that we are all clear on this matter tonight.'

'Father I do not wish to agree to something so consequential without thinking all aspects through first. I will not rush into a proposal forced upon me merely to satisfy your need for a conclusive ending to this evening.'

The table went quiet, and the guests exchanged awkward glances as blue eyes met blue in a silent stand-off. After a few moments, the older Mr Novak leant back in his chair a little, easing himself up reluctantly. 'Very well, meditate on your choices if you wish. But know this; you have two days until we are all to know the outcome of your decision. Miss Kingsley is a beautiful girl, you would be mad not to marry such a beauty if nothing else.'

His son bid goodnight to the guests and left, without a single glance at his father. He stalked down the corridor, brooding on the significance of his first official marriage proposal. He'd messed around with plenty of women with no intent of ever marrying – but this was on a whole new scale. This meant sitting down and being a politician like his father. It meant living with a woman he didn't even love, he'd met Miss Kingsley all of two times. Although he respected his father for meeting with the cabinet minister Mr Badle and arranging it all to help him, it was not what he wanted. Not once had he asked him if he actually wanted this career. But his father would see all of it as illogical reasoning and would have none of it.

Castiel Novak did not want to get married; he did not want to be a politician. On the other hand he did not know what he wanted either, but he did know with every fibre of his being, that to be a married politician by the age of twenty-two was not what he wanted.

* * *

There's hella ton of drama in store for the next instalment :D stay tuned!


	4. Chapter 4

Sorry for not updating quicker, I've been ill but am now on the path to recovery :)  
thank you so much for the wonderful reviews!

* * *

Mr Novak ran his hands through his dark locks in frustration, messing up the elegant style in a bout of indignation. He stormed up the main stairway, his posture hunched and breathing ragged. He passed Mr Fitzgerald on the landing, who was on his way to deliver papers to the butler.

'Mr Fitzgerald' he stated, instantly getting the attention of the scrawny man. Mr Novak remembered with growing annoyance an event from the morning, already knowing the outcome of his question he spoke to the man, 'did you deliver that letter this morning as I requested...?'

The footman's face fell as he turned to face his master. 'I- I am terribly sorry Mr Novak.' he issued a low bow, praying that he would be forgiven for yet another mishap. 'I have been running around since daybreak-'

'I did not ask for excuses' Mr Novak interrupted, the growing anger in his voice was more than apparent to the footman, who realised that this was probably indeed the last straw for the relations between him and the Novak household.

'I am sorry master' he bowed even deeper, petrified that anything he said could dig him deeper into trouble.

'You have consistently managed to be a source of annoyance to my father and me. You are a shame to this household' he snarled, his voice getting louder and louder with every word, 'being late and unorganised, a weak, scrawny, pathetic excuse for a footman. I don't know what Mr Godfrey was thinking in admitting you to service here, but he must have been out of his senses when he allowed it!'

'I am sorry sir, please forgive me!' Mr Fitzgerald pleaded, grasping his hands together in a feverous, desperate beg. Mr Novak rounded on him; all the second hand anger came pouring out like a tidal wave on the poor footman, whose forgetfulness would now cost him his job, and therefore his food, accommodation and security in an increasingly unstable world.

'Mr Fitzgerald, you will now be spending the rest of the year, and probably the remainder of your miserable life on the unemployment list!' he laughed, forcefully pushing the smaller man back into the wall, causing him to drop all the documents. 'Tell all the other destitute beggars there that they will find no pity from me.' He lifted his fist to hit the other man, who cowered into the wall.

'Hey, stop it!' Dean Winchester clenched the material of Mr Novak's fine silk waistcoat and pushed him away from the footman, he hastily stepped in-between them both, treading on the scattered documents with leather boots. His body began to burn with adrenaline as he faced Mr Novak, who looked so angry Dean could swear his blood was boiling beneath his usually pale skin.

'I suggest you leave, Mr Winchester, lest you want to lose your job as well!' he hissed through clenched teeth, a hint of panic in his tone. Mr Novak may be intellectually advanced but it didn't take a genius to know he was more likely to win against the footman, than he was against a man of equal strength. The shame of losing face to a servant in his own household was something he never wanted to experience.

'I don't care how much money you've got Mr Novak.' Dean retorted, staring him down heatedly and not caring if he lost his job for standing up for what was right. 'I don't care if you've got a thousand horses and all the houses in London. You remain the most vicious, conceited and abhorrent excuse for a gentleman I have ever had the displeasure of working for. No genuine gentleman would ever dream of attacking a servant.' Dean spoke with conviction and quiet rage, his body tense and his eyes fixed unblinkingly onto the other man's.

Mr Novak was momentarily taken aback by the resolute confidence of the ash haired man, expecting an apology and a hasty retreat instead of audacious insubordination. He quickly regained his senses however, and realised that he was being spoken to in such a way by a country stable hand that looked like he'd been dragged backwards through a hay stack.

'I will not be addressed in such a way you vagrant!' he spat in disgust, closing the gap between them in an attempt to intimidate the other. He gripped the front of Dean's rough fibred jacket and brought his face close to his, grinding out his words with a voice rich with unrestrained contempt, 'Whatever ill-conceived judgement you may make of my character has no repercussion on my own beliefs Mr Winchester. Your worthless opinion matters to no one. Do you honestly believe that you will change anything by this foolhardy act of naivety? I thought you better than this.'

Dean scowled at him, their eyes still glued to each other in a silent duel. The simmering testosterone and heat from the candles only added to the atmosphere of imminent battle.

'I only do what is right and honourable in the face of injustice and cruelty.' He answered with as much conviction he could muster, remaining a sense of level-headedness despite the rage building within him. Dean was determined for him to see the fault of his actions even if he lost his job. 'Even if we are both to be out of employment at least I know that it was the conscientious path to take. As you have so plainly demonstrated to us both, you are the perpetrator of that injustice.'

'The fool is an incompetent and lazy beggar! I did no wrong by my actions today!' He snapped, the gap between them closing further as their chests bumped against each other, still not relinquishing his hold on Dean's jacket. They were far too close for comfort; and Dean could not step back for fear of trampling the cowering footman, who was watching the argument, aghast.

'And to strike him like a vicious drunk is doing no wrong by your account?' Dean asked incredulously, using all his strength to push the man off him. Mr Novak kept his iron grip on his jacket however and the two stumbled backward together away from Mr Fitzgerald and into the middle of the landing. The sounds of their continuing dispute could be heard from downstairs, and two servants were dispatched from the dining hall to check on what on earth was going on. By the time they had ascended the stairs, they were overwhelmed by the unbelievable sight that befell them.

The two fully grown men were wrestling on the carpeted floor, a rolling mass of brawling limbs and colourful cursing. Mr Novak delivered a punch to the side of Dean's face as hands came up to close around the dishevelled cravat on his neck.

'And you call yourself a gentleman?' Dean hissed in pain, trying to kick in-between the man's legs.

'You deserve no words of any gentleman!' He croaked out, trying to manoeuvre Dean as the two exchanged blows. They grappled viciously, knocking over an antique vase and scuffing the walls with kicks of black shoe polish. The two servants tried in vain to remove one from the other, but they were kicked away by the two who were so ardent in their aggression that they did not even notice they were there. Mr Fitzgerald hastily gathered his documents and moved to stand beside the on looking servants.

'Return to Cambridge you pompous bastard!'

'Once you go back to your pig farm hovel!'

'Should we go and get someone to help?' Mr Fitzgerald asked the other two with wide eyes, not knowing what to do in such a situation. As one of the servants ran to fetch help, the remaining two watched, enthralled.

* * *

'I will be sure they are relieved of their duty and are gone by tomorrow morning Sir.' the housekeeper bowed and left, leaving the dishevelled Mr Novak in the empty room to brood.

He sat on the edge of his bed, hushed and unmoving as the adrenaline began to wear off. He replayed their heated conversation in his mind over and over until the images become distorted. The man couldn't help but reflect on what had been said against him when they had been delivered with such conviction in spite of his evident predominance.

Mr Novak had greatly over reacted to the incompetent servant – that much he could admit to. He could not however, admit to being "the most vicious, conceited and abhorrent excuse for a gentleman." Is this the genuine opinion of those who work for him? Or just of Mr Winchester?

After washing and preparing for bed, Mr Novak pushed aside the blue velvet curtains covering the nearest window. He moved forward so that he was behind the curtain, looking out onto the dark street below. Pushing the frame up, he took a deep breath of the night air and rested his arms on the window sill. Guilt washed over him in waves as he thought about Mr Winchester going about his last chores of the evening, unsure of where he would get his next meal.

The darkness blanketed much of the street below from him, but he knew that beggars and impoverished citizens of the city would be out on the streets, searching in vain with scrabbling hands for food or comfort. During his studies at school, they had often turned a blind eye at the increasing number of destitute people in the city; if they didn't see the poor then what did it matter? Socio-economic charts and statistics had bored him at the time, but he remembered being horrified at the amount of predicted poor that really were living in London. The thought of the valiant Mr Winchester becoming part of that dirty, desperate statistic unnerved him deeply, and filled his heart with a remorseful sense of shame.

He closed the window and moved back inside his room, illuminated by a single candle by his bedside. An ambience of melancholy fell in the darkened bedroom, sinking into Mr Novak's mind as he lay under the covers. The flickering candle illuminated the side of his face as he stared up at the ceiling with a pensive expression. The stillness of the room contrasted greatly to the steadily growing turmoil in the young man's mind. He anxiously thought over his decision of sacking the servants, as two sides of his conscience raged against each other. If he were to continue on with his choice, then a lifetime of guilt would weigh heavily upon him. He would never know if Mr Winchester and Mr Fitzgerald had survived in the cruel city after leaving his employment, they would both be lost to him.

His pride still held fast however, and to retract his orders would present him as a weak and uncertain man of the gentry. He thought of his friends from school, who had pitted their footmen against each other in races, often resulting in the poor men collapsing with exhaustion. He had thought it hilarious at the time. Putting personal ambition and pride far above the needs of a servant was the accepted norm for the aristocratic.

_And you call yourself a gentleman?_

Mr Winchester's pride faltered somewhat upon recalling the words of the stable hand. The other side of him argued that he was only doing what was right as a man of his position, by turning out two servants who had shown him great disrespect. But even as the thought crossed his mind, he knew he was being ridiculous.

It was his own fault that Mr Winchester was driven to disrespect him, and to be honest with himself, he admired his fortitude. As for Mr Fitzgerald, he was too rash and should have been merciful. He should retract his orders with honour and apologise for his behaviour. This way they would both be saved from an uncertain fate, and his conscience would be clear. The issue of Miss Kingslsey seemed dwarfed by this more pressing matter of regaining his honour, and so with haste Mr Novak reached the conclusion that something must be done to stop the housekeeper from turning the two out by morning.

Mr Novak sat bolt upright in bed. Breathing hard, he threw off the covers and took the chamber stick with the flickering flame into his hand. Hastily slipping on a dressing gown, he exited his bedroom and strode down the dark corridors of his home, his way being lit with the small glow of the candle. He walked with purpose to the butler's room, and knocked three times on the wooden door. He thought it inappropriate to head to the female servants quarters at night, dressed only in one layer of linen and a dressing gown. The butler would pass on the message first thing tomorrow, and was a suitable alternative.

After a few moments, the door creaked open, and the tired looking man appeared in the door way holding his own candle up to his eyes to see who it was that woke him. On seeing that it was Mr Novak, he quickly straightened up.

'Mr Novak! What on earth is the matter?'

'Please convey the message to Mrs Foster that I have chosen not to relieve Mr Winchester and Mr Fitzgerald of their employment here. I wish for them to stay despite this evening's incident.'

The butler searched his face, obviously a little taken aback at his late-night revelation. 'Of course sir, I shall tell her first thing tomorrow morning.'

'Thank you.' He breathed in a voice heavy with relief, with that he departed, returning to his bedroom. Mr Novak was satisfied that he had done the right thing for the first time in a long while.


	5. Chapter 5

Thank you s,o so much for your lovely reviews! You are all amazing and I love you.

* * *

The slow first light of morning transformed the darkened streets with washes of pale yellows and oranges, illuminating the early risers of the city who were already going about their daily business. By the time the orange disk of sun was fully visible on the horizon, the markets and traffic were bustling with an array of metropolitan life.

Horses, cows, sheep, pigs, dogs and chickens moved amongst the throngs of people, filling the market square with foul smells and a pastoral cacophony of living noise. Old women in bonnets haggled with loud mouthed sellers, exchanging rusty coins and making chit chat. Men hauled barrels of vegetables, fish, meat and fruit off of wagons pulled by sturdy horses and carried them to stalls and into nearby shops. Children ran among the feet of the horses and under the legs of porters, laughing and screaming as they chased each other through the crowds.

"Strawberries get your strawberries!"

"Best pork in London, get your pork here!"

"Five shillin's for the lot!"

The dissonance of sound, smell and sight left a new comer to the scene bewildered by sensory overload. So when Dean Winchester arrived on at precisely seven o'clock that morning, he had to take a minute to take in the absolute pandemonium of the scene before him. He had never seen a market on this scale with this range of variety. Straining his neck, he saw the pub across the other side of the market. He fought and elbowed his way through the masses, being hounded at all directions by the desperate marketers to buy their produce.

The bell above the door rang as he entered the dimly-lit pub. A wall of thick, smoky air hit Dean as he walked to the bar, adding to the array of smells he'd experienced that morning, it reeked of tobacco and gin.

"You look like the beer type sir!" stated the grubby bartender as he approached, knowing from the tired look in the young man's eyes that he had seen better days.

"Can I get a few bottles please?" Dean asked, eyeing up the sorry looking men and women strewn about the wooden tables, clutching their bottles like a lifeline. The fact it was seven in the morning demonstrated the depth of desperation a lot of Londoners felt. Dean had decided to spend a little of his money on beer, pack up his belongings and go to Sam. He would then make sure he was doing alright and knew what was going on, before leaving to find another job.

After the exchange, Dean put the bottles in his bag but kept one in his hand, popping off the cork top and guzzling down a refreshing amount of the barley brew before leaving. He walked down the dirty streets of the poorer area of the market, savouring the beer as he went. He walked until the houses gradually began to morph into richer, more lavish accommodations. After a while and with a heavy heart, he found himself back in Kensington at the house of the Novaks for the last time.

* * *

He entered the courtyard, heading straight for the kitchen to say his farewells before packing. As soon as he entered the large room however, the housekeeper Mrs Gillingham ran up to him with a toothy grin.

"I have good news Mr Winchester! You're not to be dismissed at all, neither is Mr Fitzgerald!"

"…Why?" Dean asked, feeling instant relief wash over him. However this relief was to be quickly followed by resentment as he remembered the reasons he was dismissed for in the first place, "Has the pompous maggot decided that he'd rather work me to death?"

"No Mr Winchester." the voice from the doorway at the back of the kitchen caused them both to jump. Dean's eyes snapped to his. The maids who had been bustling around the kitchen stopped their duties, watching yet another scene unfold. "May I please speak to you in private?"

Dean agreed and followed his master wordlessly up the stairs and into the main house. They eventually reached the same mint coloured room that he had met Mr Novak in for the first time. Entering through the large white doors and sitting down opposite each other on the stuff settees, the young men looked at one another.

"Mr Winchester I-" he paused for a long moment, bringing his hand to his mouth and averting his eyes to think of a way to start. "I, I just want to apologise for my behaviour yesterday evening. It was brutish and unjust, and I take full credit for the incident. I kept you and Mr Fitzgerald here because I believe that you are not to blame and do not serve a cruel fate because of my stubborn refusal to admit when I am wrong. I do not wish to continue to be seen as 'the most vicious, conceited and abhorrent excuse for a gentleman'. If this is what my servants think of me, then I am not worthy of being your master."

Dean stared back at him, overcome with shock. This was not what he expected to hear.

"What you said to me has forced me to rethink some aspects of my character that I will admit, need a little adjustment." He paused again while Dean waited, dumbfounded. "You will agree with me when I say that I have some flaws that need attending to."

Mr Novak got up from the settee opposite Dean then, and walked over the window. He stared out of it for a while, and Dean wondered if he should say something to break the silence, but then he spoke.

"Mr Winchester, I cannot thank you enough for what you have made me realise within myself."

"And what have you realised, Sir?" Dean asked quietly, speaking for the first time since calling him a pompous maggot.

"I have realised the potential of an individual. Speaking out of line to me with such courage and assurance in your opinion has opened my eyes to what I can do in my own life." Mr Novak's thoughts strayed to Miss Kingsley and the unwanted political career. He turned from the window, his blue eyes focusing on the stable hand.

"Your confident poise in the face of injustice is very admirable Mr Winchester, and that footman should be forever grateful for having a friend as loyal as you." Dean smiled at that, flushing a little despite himself for the stream of compliments. He had not realised he was doing anything extraordinary, he just standing up for a friend. "For showing me courage Mr Winchester, I am so very thankful."

"Sir, you flatter me… I was merely protecting a friend, I deserve none such praise." Dean pushed the issue aside, just grateful they both had their jobs, and still astounded at hearing Mr Novak's revelations.

"You deserve every praise Mr Winchester, if not for you yesterday I would have probably-" he stopped himself.

"You would have done what, Sir?" Dean asked with earnest eyes, starting to wonder what was really going on in this guy's life to make him need all this strength. He had presumed that with all that money he would have no real problems. Looking at his assumption now, Dean realised that was a stupid thing to think.

Feeling a little more comfortable in the company of the other man, Mr Novak came back and sat down on the settee opposite again. He looked at Dean with anxious eyes before answering, still not sure if exposing the details of his life with the stable hand was entirely appropriate. But the more he stared at the other man, he saw genuine concern on his features and decided to continue nonetheless.

"I, I have an arranged marriage to a wealthy and well-connected woman I've met twice. Miss Kinglsey, her name is. I am expected to make up my mind on the subject by tomorrow that is partly the reason I was so angry after dinner yesterday. As you may have inferred, I am not overcome with joy about the idea of marrying a woman whom I don't love and barely know. If it were not for your demonstration of courage, I would have probably accepted the proposal by now."

Dean listened, feeling a pang of pity for the man for the first time since arriving. He realised that he was indeed human, and did have feelings despite being a black hearted bastard to start with. As he had no prospects of marriage yet, and knew that he was going to be lucky to secure a good match with his low income, he did not know the pressures in the elite to marry well. The fact that he had helped this man with such a big life decision amazed the stable hand.

"I gave you the courage to break away from that path set for you? What about your father?"

"Yes, he wants me to marry. The connections she has will help me with the career he's planned out for me. I am to be a politician, and her father holds a position in parliament. It will all help me further my chances of success."

Dean thought about Mr Novak being stuck in a room full egotistical windbags for the rest of his life, and felt a pang of pity for him facing such a meaningless existence. He had been looking after horses and livestock on the farm with Sam since he was old enough to walk. Having a natural affinity with horses, he took great pleasure in his job and found it rewarding, even if it left him aching and reeking by the end of the day.

"But what do you want to be?"

The simplicity of the question hit Mr Novak like a breath of fresh air. He wanted so desperately to do what he wanted, but all his life the weight of his father and his family name followed him around like a sword above his head, ready to drop once he stepped out of line.

"I wish it was that easy."

"Why can't it be?"

Mr Novak smiled sadly, leaning back and twiddling with his fingers as Dean watched him, patiently waiting to know what he was going to do.

"If I were to go against my father in such a way, my reputation will be tainted. Besides, it's not like I have any talents of my own or a passion for a subject. All I know is that I don't want to be what he wants me to be. I wish I could make up my mind, but I just don't know what to do."

Dean leaned back in the settee, mirroring his position. He wished he could make it easier for Mr Novak, but he knew there was nothing he could do but give advice. Even his advice was hard to give considering he knew little to nothing about the intricate web of the aristocracy that the other man was entangled in.

"Well, if you're looking for your true calling Sir, you can always help me out in the yard." He joked to lift the mood, resulting in a burst of laughter from the other man. They smiled at each other for a while, the tension lifting instantly.

"Thank you, I shall have to hold you to that offer."

* * *

_Dearest Sam,_

_I am glad that you are doing well and that the Gardiners continue to be kind employers. If anyone gives you trouble Sammy, write to me straight away and I will be there quicker than father upon hearing there will be copious amounts of ale. I hope to come to you next week so we can both send the first payment to father in town. Await my visit for Friday afternoon, if you are lucky I might even bring a few bottles of beer with me to celebrate the occasion with._

_A lot has happened since my last letter to you, I am sure that you will find it all very entertaining. Although looking back at it all now, I know that I cannot make as light of it as I do now. At the time it was quite distressing, but do not worry, for the story you are about to read is all resolved as I write. _

_The younger Mr Novak and I had a heated dispute after he threatened to strike the humble footman Mr Fitzgerald for incompetence. You know me well brother and will not be surprised when I say that it ended in a reckless fist fight. I could not just let him behave in such a way, and I said to his face among other well-constructed and clever insults, 'you remain the most vicious, conceited and abhorrent excuse for a gentleman'. You can well imagine the reaction that particular line got._

_ As a result of the incident, we were both dismissed by Mr Novak. This morning I went to town and bought beer with the remainder of my spare money, knowing that I would be out of a job by tonight. However, by a stroke of pure luck, Mr Novak has retracted his orders of dismissal, and you shall never guess why!_

_Apparently, I've shown him the courage he needed in his own life. He brought me to a parlour and told me all in great detail his struggles and plights, and was grateful for my demonstration of confidence and honour. I am still hardly sure of what to make of all this, it went completely against the opinion I had of him previously. It seems that he isn't such a pretentious little bastard after all. Or maybe he is underneath and he is trying to trick me with his heartfelt speeches – either way, I am now employed again and all is well. _

_As you can see there has been a lot happening since I have last seen you Sam, I hope so very much that we will see each other next Friday, it has been too long to be sure._

_Sorry for the long letter, you know how much I like to thrill you with tales of my adventures._

_Your brother,_

_Dean._


	6. Chapter 6

I am so sorry about the long wait! Christmas was very busy indeed :D

* * *

In the morning of Friday the fourth of May, Dean Winchester approached the house of the Gardiners on horseback. Leaning against the wall of the town house stood Sam, grinning from ear to ear at seeing his brother approach on their family horse.

After hugging and greeting cheerfully, they both mounted their own horses and left for the bank, trotting alongside one another, conversing the whole way like they'd never been apart for more than a minute. The brothers talked about all that had happened since they came here, and Dean was sceptical as well as entertained after hearing about a particular milk maid that came by everyday whom Sam had taken a liking to.

The two brothers felt completely at ease and giddy with happiness at seeing each other again after a month or so apart. Dean also felt complete relief at seeing his brother in the flesh, knowing that he was still in one piece with no bruises or scrapes. The young man would give his life for his brother at the drop of a hat. The consistent letters were enough to keep his worries mostly subdued, but as the older brother he was passionately protective of him, and wanted their father to have absolute reassurance in the knowledge that he would guard the most precious thing to them both.

After the death of Mary Winchester, the house on the farm seemed smaller, more isolated to a young Dean. His father would leave the house for days at a time; doing what Dean never knew. Throughout those long nights of uncertainty and fear, Dean would fall asleep beside his baby brother and protect him from the branches that rapped against the dirty windows and the winds that howled through the alcoves of the cottage.

Their father would return, stinking, stumbling and avoiding all of the questions the four year old threw at him, but Dean would run to hug him nonetheless and forgave unconditionally on every occasion in a way that only an innocent child could. Sam would at this point be screeching with hunger, as the fruit from the orchard that Dean was eating would be too solid for him. Dean would experiment throughout the days with different substances to see if he liked it, but he could never find anything he would eat. Feeling useless and a bad brother, Dean would have to wait until John returned. In recollecting his father's absences, both brothers still forgave his actions. Dean could not comprehend the loss John must have gone through over the death of their mother. All he remembered of her was fleeting colours of yellow and white, and Sam had no memory of her at all. But he knew that his father was still haunted by her death all these years later, succumbing to drink and gambling when it was too much.

As soon as Sam could walk, Dean would take him onto the field and show him where he and John worked, feeling incredibly proud of the part he shared for the maintenance of the farm. At the age of two, Sam, awed by the honour and respectability of his brother, would try to take part of the harvest, pulling carrots and onions out of the ground to see how developed the roots were, much to the exasperation of their father. When John would disappear when they had gotten older, Dean and Sam would go and camp in the nearby woods and play Robin Hood, using sticks as swords and climbing the trees, challenging one another as to who could get the highest. Scrambling barefoot through the woods and playing with the animals on the farm whilst John relapsed in a pub some ten miles away didn't bother them when they had each other.

"So when are you going to give me some of that beer?" Sam joked whilst they were on route, waking Dean out of his nostalgic thoughts. Their horses clopped along the dirty road, the traffic was thin in this particular area, and they were making good time for once.

"Once we have finished the job Sam, and only then if you are very lucky."

"You said last time that I am too young for that, why have you changed your mind?" he asked, knowing the answer and wanting Dean to admit to it.

"Well I… I feel that this experience has helped you…to become a man Sam, not as handsome or charming as me to be sure but a man nonetheless." Sam let out a bark of laughter at hearing this, gathering the attention of several pedestrians. "Father will be exceedingly proud once he gets the money and the letter." Dean smiled at Sam, feeling a little embarrassed at saying this sort of thing to his brother.

"You finally admit it, I am a man, and not just because I am taller than you." He grinned, looking away and down the road, happy with himself.

"You are _not_ taller than me Sammy." Dean scoffed, unwilling to believe such nonsense.

When they dismounted at the bank Dean had to retract his words when he realised to his horror the height to which his brother had grown. They put their earnings in a package attached with a letter, and sent it express to their home, far away in the glowing green countryside. Dean smiled at the thought of their father opening the package and feeling proud of his boys for doing so well in the glorious city. He relied on their money to pay those he had hired to work the land, as he was unable to do it all himself at his age.

The ride back to the Gardiner's house was spent with more reminiscing on their childhood, already seeming like another life to the young men. Glossy hills and sloping pastures of their country home, the sheepdog they used to look after and the red brick fireplace in the living room below the warping wooden beams. Their modest farmhouse resembled an inconsequential dot on the vast map of fields of golden barley and crops that swept across the English soil. The brothers still couldn't believe how different it was to be in a city, swarmed with people day and night and not a moment of silence.

* * *

Meanwhile that morning:

"…So you have chosen to decline the marriage to Miss Kinglsey?" his father asked dubiously, a hint of mockery lacing his tone. It was more of a statement than a question directed at the younger Mr Novak, who was standing on the other side of an ornate wooden desk, his hands behind his back and his stance defiant. The older man leaned forward in his seat, linking his hands together on the edge of the surface.

"I have."

"…And may I enquire as to _why_ with such little effort you have rejected a marriage that will, without doubt or ambiguity, secure your future both financially, and will benefit your own happiness?" he asked, his eyes thinning in suspicion.

"Because it is my own choice as a man, and I do not believe the marriage will result in my happiness. I have only met Miss Kingsley twice. This is no reckoning to base a marriage for life upon, I know nothing about her or her interests. I know it sounds naive of me father, but I want to actually love the woman I marry."

"I didn't marry for love Castiel, but I learned to love, so do many others" The younger Novak looked away at the mention of his Christian name, knowing that his father only used it when the situation had taken a turn for the worst. He sighed, exasperated, "why do you have to be different?"

"Because…Because I want more from life papa." The use of his childhood name for his father caught the older man off guard, and it was evident in his eyes that he felt a pang of sympathy for his confused son. "I don't want to become a politician, and I will not heed to your persuasion, no matter how you force it upon me."

"So what is your true calling then? If not in parliament?"

Castiel shuffled awkwardly on his feet, knowing that he could not answer the question in any way that would please his father.

"I…I have not fully concluded myself on the matter of-"

"So you mean to tell me" he interrupted, his voice heavy with a sarcastic weariness, "that you wish to reject this marriage and an employment choice that you would undoubtedly excel in. And yet you do so with absolutely no intent of pursuing another path in replacement?"

His father stood up, splaying his hands across the dark mahogany of the desk. The younger Novak stood his ground opposite him, saying nothing and revealing nothing in his placid expression. Castiel knew his father had made up his mind, and was waiting for the backlash.

"If you had your heart set on another option, perhaps I would have been more understanding in the face of your, frankly, ridiculous request. But alas I cannot, because you do not express any desire for anything else. Am I to see my own son fall idle and lazy? If you choose this now, what about in ten years' time? Will you know then? I can tell you in assurance that by then it will be too late to forge any connection that will grant you the prestige and power that a government position offers."

"Father I-"

He held up his hand to silence him, his weary slumping shoulders relaxing a little as he lowered the loudness of his voice. He closed his eyes and breathed in slowly before speaking again. "You are to find another profession, or accept the one I have given you with Miss Kinglsey in turn. Heaven knows I am being lenient enough as it is giving you the option, do not make me a fool for giving you some freedom in this."

Mr Novak was stunned, he leaned forward, bringing his hands together and beaming from ear to ear, "Thank you so much I-"

His father silenced him again with a flick of his hand like a wise sage, before breathing deeply and assessing what he was going to say. "But you must know before we leave for Sevenoaks at the end of the month – there is only so much time that Miss Kinglsey will grant you before it becomes embarrassing for her and her family. Do not make yourself rude on top of everything else." With that he sat down, his jaded eyes falling shut. He waved a dismissive hand at his son, willing for him to leave him be now that he had gotten the permission he needed.

"Thank you papa, I will look earnestly for a vocation that will please us both. Thank you" and with that he was out of his father's office and into the corridor outside, shutting the door behind him with a soft click. Soft spring light floated through the windows, giving the corridor a soft, warm atmosphere. He felt like a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders now that he was free to find his true calling by the end of the season, and his marriage had been postponed. Waves of determination drove him to the drawing room, where he called for tea and sat down with a big pile of books that proved interesting. He would find his vocation by the end of spring.

* * *

Pulling the leather tight in his hands, Dean adjusted the broken reins with experienced hands. The servant's hall and adjoining kitchen space bustled with activity. The Novak's had relatives visiting, and timeliness was everything for the staff. The cook hurled abuse at the younger maids getting in the way of her work as she fetched flour and balanced eggs precariously in her hands. Benny's Jack Russell yapped and scampered under the feet of the valets, who were trying to sort out the wine assortment for the evening. Those with less household related chores found themselves sitting at the end of the long bench close to the door near the yard, the setting sun casting deep orange light across their backs. Absorbed in his work, Dean barely looked up when the noisy room quietened and the butler Mr Godfrey spoke up at the end of the table.

"May I have your attention please?" He waited until the buzz of noise had died down before continuing, "As you will be well aware, the parliamentary season ends this month to begin again in October. So we will begin next week preparations for departure to Sevenoaks on the first of June. There is information on the wall about who is to be leaving, and when each individual will be needing to depart." He looked around at the motley crew, who were all listening with attentive ears to every word he spoke as the communicator between the great divide. "Please be sure you have everything ready two days in advance in case of a premature departure due to weather. Everything else is on the notice". He turned and pointed to it, before leaving the room to head upstairs where he was needed.

Dean was aware that the rich often went to the country for summer at the end of the season, but what he didn't realise when he read the notice that evening – was that he was also attending.

'_Mr Winchester – stable supervision and carriage attendance. Departing on July the first 6 o'clock in the morning, accompanying the stable and garden staff. Estimated time of arrival – 9 o'clock in the evening. Preparation for the horses and carriages is expected on the morning of departure.'_

Dean took a step back from the notice, his mind instantly fixing on his brother. How could he leave the city and leave him by himself? He would have to convince the master of the house that he could not attend. His father would kill him if he knew he'd left his brother for the whole of summer by himself. Considering the trip unattainable for his present circumstances, Dean headed off to find the butler and inform him that he simply couldn't leave Sam.


End file.
